


This Writer Walks into a Bar..

by FluffyGlitterPantsDragon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attack of the Killer Notepad, Deans inguinal ligament needs its own tag, F/M, First Person POV/smut, Guys night off, I am a dork, Oral Sex, Smut, This is my first SPN fic you guys, Vaginal Sex, no real plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyGlitterPantsDragon/pseuds/FluffyGlitterPantsDragon
Summary: You are a writer. You’re a little horny but with low expectations. Other characters, people present nearby, but this is a typical ‘night off’ at a pool hall for the boys.





	This Writer Walks into a Bar..

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PiscesPenName](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiscesPenName/gifts).



> The self-inserts I read with Y/N throw me off, so I wrote mine without them.
> 
> I’ve recently updated this work for grammar and hopefully better smut :)

You're about to call it a night. It’s still early, the beer isn’t great, and cocktails of any kind are out of the question. This bar is still your favorite hangout, even when the girls can’t make it. The owner is friendly and some nights he even has the beer you like in stock. This isn’t one of those nights. Calling this place a dive would be charitable, but it's home.

The energy level is low, allowing you to scan any newcomers and make notes on the ones that catch your eye. Of course, there are the two boys in the back of the room playing pool, but they’ve been difficult to observe with your objective writer’s eye. You’ve changed tables twice already, but somehow they end up neatly out of your reach. You figure you better stop before they take you for a creeper. Okay, maybe you are doing a little creeping. You know, for research.

They came in a few hours ago, road-weary and to one side of sexy disheveled. The shorter man - neither are short - has strangely adorable bow legs. They drink their beer without tasting it but don’t over-indulge. A few locals lost money in a couple of games of pool, then stopped bothering them. They don’t look a whole lot alike, save for striking eyes. The one with shorter hair has the eyes of ex-military, you would guess. Or maybe he looked up on-edge.

It’s hard not to stare at the taller lanky man as he leans over the pool table like it owes him money.

The other equally hot one, brothers, you think, has disappeared, probably to the john. You'd bet your life they aren't boyfriends. They revolve around each other in a way that makes you think of good friends or family. Sam - You caught the name- is stepping one insanely long leg back, shifting his hips and lining up another shot. Those jeans stress nicely against his ass, and you push down a little heat threatening your face. He’s wearing a shirt that is just this side of ‘tight,’ and it rides up a little when he reaches for the rack, exposing an illicit long view of tanned skin. His low-slung hip-huggers would look absurd on anyone else, but they both could pass for underwear models.

There’s an idea...he could have sex with someone on that pool table without straining for height.

'Those well-loved, rugged jeans sinking the floor in a cotton crumple around his ankles, his lengthy silky brown hair falling over a woman’s face with her dress hitched up. Her hair falls back like she's on the cover of a book. Broad shoulders that never end follow his neck and head to her throat. She's perched up on the edge of the table, hanging on to him with wanting eyes and a coy smile. Sam is strong enough to hold her up and take her at the same time but wants his hands free to roam her body. He nibbles the edge of her shoulder at her strap and reaches under the hiked up hem to caress her leg with a wide palm.

Impatient, she licks and sucks on her fingers and grabs his growing desire through the front of his boxers with a slick hand, a wet promise. He falters, fingers stilled on her thigh in surprise by her eager grasp. She closes around him, sliding her hand in an easy slow motion.

His fingers jerkily resume their path, slowly spreading under the fabric, fighting with the folds of her dress and blindly reaching for the elastic edges of her underthings. Sam swipes a thumb across her at her apex and bites her breasts through the limiting fabric of her clothing. She moans with heated desire. She wants him in her, but he's taking his time.

She pushes his open flannel shirt down off his shoulders, and the button-up drapes in a way that frames his rock solid back and neck. The shirt restrains his arms but neither wants his hands away from where they are. His hand slips just under the lace edge of her panties, finding her slick and ready for him. He brushes up against where she wants him, thumbing her to distraction. She smiles wickedly and gives a gentle twist to her occupied hand, in small degrees. Sam utters a throaty moan. He is hers.

She kicks up her heels, locking them together behind his muscular hips. He sucks against her neck, drawing up the skin to claim her and soothing it again with his tongue. Slowly, she draws her legs in, pulling him hard against her body, his fingers plunge into her with the force of the pressure of their bodies coming closer. The friction and precision is almost what she needs.

They shouldn't be doing this. The bar is closed, but anyone could walk by and catch them.

He would never look at a pool table the same way again.

Sam slips his other hand from her back to yank down his underwear and then push up her skirt for better access. She whines for him. He draws his wet fingers free of her with a groan from her. His hips and his hard length press against her, teasing.

You smile slyly to yourself, pen flying across your notepad, lost in your dirty thoughts.

Oh yeah, this will be fun to type up later.

You're startled by the missing brother depositing his lean frame in the seat next to yours. He drops his beer bottle down on the wood table with a thump, as if dropping out of the sky wasn’t enough to get your attention. You register that he’s partially blocking the path to the nearest door, his sharp green eyes seeking out your face. His body is exuding offense, and you wilt a little instinctively, but you don’t know why.

“Whatcha’ doing, sweetheart? Someone asked you to keep an eye on Sam and me?” His voice is flat.

You freeze, your pen clutched in your hand. What?

“You aren’t a good spy. You’ve had that notepad out all night, watching us.” He angles his body to reach for your notes.

You huff. “Why would I spy on you? I’m just taking notes, for story ideas.” You curl one hand protectively around a corner of your pad, turning it away from him.

“What paper you write for?” His eyes shifted, somehow darker and cold without moving a muscle in his face. Ah hell.

You didn’t think you could get this indignant, this fast. “None. I write for myself, and a small audience. You know, online?” You feel your face heating for several different reasons.

“Oh, really?” He deftly slides your notepad out from under your still poised pen, leaving a long black line down the margin. His eyes on you, he flips it up to his face.

How rude is this guy going to get anyway? Spying? What the hell? You find yourself turning red, again, when you remember what you just wrote. About his brother. Well, he’s in for a treat. You drop your pen and wait.

“How about I judge for myself…“ His mouth falls open slightly. “Oh. Okay. I gotta say, that is not an image I needed in my head. Like. Ever." He wiped his face with his hand as if willing the visual to leave him. "I think you at least owe me a drink to wash that out of my brain. Or five.” His face softens, and he drops your notepad face down, then pushes it to the far edge of the table. He rubs his neck and sighs. “So you aren’t here for us?”

You find yourself still huffy. He’s not going to apologize or explain, you’re sure, but his face isn't pinched anymore. Your stomach uncoils and you breathe out. His face is difficult to stay mad at, and at least he looks vaguely sheepish. Well. You were hoping for something interesting to happen tonight, weren’t you?

Now that he’s here at your table, you get a view of his classic jawline when he takes a pull off his beer. Damn. You swallow. You’re out of beer.

You relent. Hell, he’s here, why not do some real research? “No. I write... romances. This is my regular haunt, and I like to watch people. Then these two super hot guys walked in from nowhere, and I wanted-” Oh my god, why am I even saying that out loud? You’re sure you visibly wince.

His pale reflective eyes are locked on to yours, but now they’re amused. The tables have turned. Or tides. Or something. His lips lopsidedly turn up at one corner. And he’s still looking at you. Why is he looking at you? Ohhhhh, please don’t stop.

You compose yourself. Kind of. And plow forward. “Dean, right? I notice things. I know what my audiences like, I pick up details, and I try not to bother people too much when I do.” you cross your arms defensively. Your boobs press together above your forearms. His eyes follow your movements. You totally did that on purpose. Yup.

The tall cool drink of water in front of you relaxes. His bottle hovers close to his face, and you wonder what how those lips taste. He takes another sip, and you’ve never wanted to be a beer bottle more in your life. Dean gestures at the offending notepad. “Your audiences, huh? You write anything there about me?” His voice is light now, teasing and suggestive. “Maybe I can help you.”

Your breath hitches. The clock overhead ticks off a second.

He’s still looking at me. Why would he even-he doesn’t even know me from anywhere. The gods themselves could have chiseled that face. I bet he smells like heaven. Those forearms are incredible. I bet that smooth skin goes all the way under that flannel- is that a scar? Ooh, sexy scar. Sexy scars? Has he got more under there - oh shit, is he flirting with me? Is he just messing with me? Have I got a shot with him? I’m taking it. You know, for research.

The second ends, and everything slows down to the speed of life. Why do you keep swallowing? Stop it. For some reason your brain clicks back all the way to ‘off,’ and your throat is dry. Another nervous swallow and you lick your lips. Dean’s eyes flick from your eyes to your mouth and back. Damn. His lashes are a mile long too.

“Uh. I. What if there is?” Your brain is about five seconds behind. “Something. Or not.”

Jesus, I’m a moron.

Dean is watching you like a hungry cat who just found the cream.

I need to write that down, you think uncontrollably.

Jesus, I’m a moron.

“Sweetheart, you don’t hafta share your notes if you don’t want to. I’m happy to help, but you have to swear you won’t write it.” Dean’s lids are half-lowered, and he’s leaning in with a smile.

The fuck I’m swearing to that.

When did I start smiling back? You swallow. Jesus stop that. “I believe I owe you a drink. I’ve got better booze back at my place.” Did I say that? omgIdidn’tjustsaythat.whydidIsaythat-

You thought his grin couldn’t get any wider. You’re wrong. “I could get outta here. Lead the way.”

You think you said, “What about your brother?” What you did was sort of tilt your head in Sam’s general direction and just not want to say or do anything at all to take his eyes off you. He slides in closer, and there’s a wonderfully - ohhh, large, nice - warm hand on the small of your back. He flexes strong fingers, gently stimulating your nerves and generating a tingle straight up your spine.

“He’ll be fine. He’s a big boy.”

Which starts a brand new cascade of thoughts raging through your brain, but then your eyes snap back to Dean’s and his eyes are crazy green. Impossibly green. You could swim in them and never return. And he’s close. And he does smell amazing. Are you blushing? Yes. You brush back a stray lock of your hair away from your face. You’re flustered. What was the last thing you said again?

Dean gifts you a very sexy, low laugh near your ear, and you want to hear it again. Badly. “Are you close?”

Did he know what he asked? Oh yeah, he did.

“Walking distance.” You croak out.

Fuck it.

You lean into him. His lips are delicious. And warm. he’s exactly the right amount of firm and stubble. He’s kissing you back, not urgently but not softly. You can feel his body heat through the toned arm wrapped loosely around your waist. If you get up now, he’d let you get away, but he’d be at least a little put out about it, you think. In spite of all the suggestive talk, he’s giving you an escape route. You aren’t taking it.

Damn, he’s hot.

He smells of unidentifiable warm spices. His prickly and not at all unpleasant day old growth is pressing against the side of your face, and warm breath is next to your ear. Just above a whisper, “Anybody ever tell you you’re sexy when you can’t stop blushing?”

You tug him up to standing. He’s just enough taller than you to look up into his eyes. You don’t want that face away from yours for a second longer, but... Pulling off his pants right here in the middle of the bar would probably be awkward. And now you’re thinking about it. Good job you.

“I don’t usually-” Dean cuts you off with another kiss. Oh yeah. This is happening. Your ovaries send up a little cheer.

Somehow you’re both walking out. His arm is draped around you, his fingers are doing distracting things to your hip through your clothes. You catch a glimpse of Sam’s face bearing a bemused expression and turning back to his pool game. Belatedly you realize your notepad is back on the table. You don’t give a shit.

Amazingly, you’ve picked the correct direction back home.

A black and white ball of fur tears out the front door when Dean opens it. “What the hell was that?”

“Barley. He’s my tux cat.”

“Cat? That’s not a cat. I’ve seen cats. And monsters. I’m pretty sure that was a monster.”

“I know he’s big. He’s a giant cuddle sweetie. He’ll come back around later.” He follows you into the kitchen.

You remember something. “Uh. Shit. I don’t have condoms.” Can I please stop blushing like a damn teenager now? Like you’ve never had a one-night stand before? “Do we need to run back out, or?” You glance up at him, biting your lip lightly.

“I was never a boy scout, but you know, always prepared.” His confident shit-eating grin is back. You like it.

You grin yourself, still feeling like a damn high schooler at a dance and a little out of your depth. I may not be a sex goddess, but I know a few things, dammit.

You snake your fingers through his belt loops and firmly tug him in by the pants for another kiss, holding him against your hips with your ass against the kitchen counter. Thank gods you cleaned this morning.

“Mmmmm.” He murmurs into your kiss. “You’re sexy when you aren’t blushing, too.”

Which makes you blush. Again. God, he’s good looking. And he has a fantastic mouth.

His arms wrap around you, holding you close. Your body is up against him, pressing in all the right places. Deans entire body is hard, fit, and the low heat that's coming off him and seeping into you is intoxicating. His hands slip up under your shirt, tracing lines lightly on your back and raising goosebumps.

There’s something hard between you pressing against into the seam of your jeans. He wants you. Your hands go to his ass, holding yourself firmly against him. You tip up on your toes, stepping out of your shoes and kicking them out of the way. You bring your mouth up to his ear, trying out your very best sexy voice. “So, you want that drink I owe you? Or can I do something else to make up for earlier?”

Dean’s mossy green eyes glint down at you. You melt a little more. “Anything you want, hon.” Ohhh. He hadn’t used his sexy voice until now. It’s low and full of promises. You feel a little weak, warm and like you’re wearing too much right this second. And so was he. Your nether regions agree wholeheartedly. You feel enclosed against him in his arms.

You summon the will to push back long enough to scrabble your shirt over your head and drop it on the table. So much for sexy stripping. “What I want is to do naughty things to you. I want to tear your clothes off and feel your skin. I want to see the rest of your scars.” You breathe. “I want you in me until I can’t see straight.”

He makes a low noise, unconsciously adjusts his jeans and lets you lead.

At your bedroom door, Dean turns you to him, gently cupping your face and leaning in again for a deeper kiss. His hands drop down your sides and he’s unbuttoning his soft outer shirt. You reach up to free up his hands by urgently taking over the buttons. You’ve tried the thing before where in the movies buttons go flying in arcs but it never actually works. You want to try again.

Dean runs his fingers up and down your back from your neck to waist, not yet attacking your bra clasp, but then he slips both hands under the band on the way up, sliding his fingers around to your front. He slides his strong, rough thumbs along the line of your underboob to the middle of your sternum, under your bra, on each side. His hands are caressing just outside your nipples, being a tease. You shiver and make a noise you hope is sexy but probably was closer to ‘rabid groundhog.’

“Anything you don’t wanna do?” Oh no. This is his sexy voice. Dean is going to take up permanent residence in your spank bank. Frequently. Like that wasn’t happening when you first spotted him.

A noise you don’t think you've made before escapes your throat as he fully cups your breasts. His hands fit you perfectly, his calloused thumbs brushing along each of your nipples. You think you forgot to think for a moment. “I’m. I’m. pretty vanilla?”

“Nuthin’ wrong with that.” He’s nibbling your neck, much the way your fantasy Sam did earlier.

You lick your lips in a way you hope is suggestive. “I’m up for just about anything that involves your face.”

“I think I can oblige.” You get another throaty noise out of him, and your panties are damp.

You miss the moment one hand left a breast briefly unattended, and your bra is hanging on your elbow. You absently flick it, and it hits the wall with a ‘thwack.’ Why doesn’t this crap happen in movies? Dean is kissing his way down your neck and collarbone, making your skin shiver in his wake. You pull apart the rest of his shirt buttons with urgency and slide the dark fabric off this shoulders. There’s still a soft cotton t-shirt in the way. You growl.

Dean smiles into your neck and sweeps you onto your bed. He sits up over you, playfully hooking a finger under the band of your jeans at the hip, running it back and forth. “Can I help you with these?”

“Shirt. Off. Now.”

“Oh, my hot date wants a show, huh?” He lets go of you and plays with the hem of his shirt, grinning down from above you and it’s sexy as hell.

You make a noise of sexual need embodied.

Dean is smiling at you from the end of your bed. He leans back, on display. The gap between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his jeans is riveting. He's on his knees spread wide over you. Taking his time.

The shirt comes off, followed by him lazily loosening his belt. There's something sexy about that sound of a metal buckle and leather strap coming undone. He is enjoying his magnetic effect on you. And he is a man to look at. His stomach is taut; his jeans look like they were tailored to his body for maximum impact. The pants aren't off him yet, but you can tell he's well-endowed under those layers. And oh, yes, sexy scars and a single star and flames tattoo. Huh.

He has those ridiculously perfect lines of muscle that run from the sides of the hips down to his naughty area. He's watching you, he unzips his jeans and the line of visible skin and happy trail lengthens. Your breath catches. You kind of just want this mental picture in your head for the rest of your life. Your vagina clears its figurative throat.

You growl again and scoot to the edge of your bed and take over. Oh, and his whole body smells like warm spice. You kiss his ribs. His hands are in your hair but not pulling, just...there. He’s softly caressing the back of your head, still with that crazy hot smile on his lips.

One of your hands is inside his open jeans, playing with his underwear band the way he started with your bra. He’s rock hard, and you haven’t even directly touched his dick yet. You steady your breathing, kiss his ribs again, down his sculpted abs. Over his belly button and you tickle the top of his happy trail with your tongue as you teasingly tug lower his pants and boxers at the same time. Slowly. Dean rewards you with a gratifying noise.

His erection catches on the lip of his pants, but you don’t free it just yet. You take the opportunity to thoroughly ruin what’s left of your lipstick all the way down to the last expanse of skin and curls just above his cock. His hand tightens in your hair, just a little. You gently urge him back off your bed to standing.

You give him mercy and free his hips (narrowly missing being smacked in the face by previously mentioned hard cock, but luckily he doesn’t notice) Dean kicks away his dropped clothes, and he’s completely naked in front of you, unashamedly looking like nothing you’ve ever had before in your bedroom.

He pulls you up, and your pants join his on the floor. You’re still in your last bit of lacy underwear. He squeezes your ass, his hands supporting your butt, his thumbs running along your panty line. You notice you’re breathing hard, and so is he. You pull him down to your bed.

Dean is hovering over you, one of his knees is resting between yours, and his hands are everywhere. Before his face gets away from you again, you pull him down for a long, hard kiss. You want to eat him.

His erection is resting lightly on your hip, just to the right of where you want it. At some point, he’d expertly placed a condom within easy reach on the nightstand. You make a half-blind grab for it, but he’s kissing down your body, between your breasts, down the middle of your ribs. Your frustration at his cock not already in you takes a hard left turn as that incredible jawline and stubble bite into your thigh.

He’s down on his belly, pulling lightly at your very damp panties. His infinitely green eyes capture yours from just above your hips. Dean seems to be looking for something in your face, finds it. He nips at the corner of your underthings where it curves up against your inner thigh.

You gasp. He’s smiling against your labia, his nose pressing exactly where you want...other things. Your remaining bit of clothing joins the collection on the floor. His lips nuzzle you. His mouth teases along either side.

“Dean…” You hear the burning need in your own voice, deep in your throat.

“Yeah.” He pauses. His arms cross under your legs, lifting your hips closer to his face. Those green eyes are teasing you. His tongue wetly drags across your heat.

“For the love of-”

He presses his lips where you want them. Dean buries his face into you. His lips and tongue and kisses are slipping up and down, gently prodding to find just the right- And he stays there.

His hot tongue finds you. Circles you. One of his firm hands is bracing himself on your belly. You stuff some pillows under your shoulders so you can watch him with his face going down on you. He cracks an eye open to see what you did, and his lips are grinning against you.

His other hand snakes to your opening. With excruciating slowness, a finger is pressing where you want his dick to be. His saliva and your wetness mingle on his hand, and he adds a second.

You moan. Loud. This ridiculously handsome man you took home, just hoping for a good lay, is spending time on you. One hand is in his short hair. The other is gripping your headboard for dear life.

His ass is gorgeous from this angle.

You feel a little heady and your hips clench. Your breath hitches. “Dean?”

“Mmmmhhhhmmm.”

Dean spirals his tongue on you, leading your peak up, then settles on a steady lapping pace.

Everything tenses hard and releases- hard. “Oh, god, Dean!” Your lower regions flood with cascading pulses and you restrain yourself from bucking into his mouth.

You barely keep yourself from squeezing Deans head with your legs. And he hasn’t pulled up yet. He’s found your pulse and is pressing his tongue against you. You’re sure you came at least a little on his face. He doesn’t move away. You let out a breathy low moan that goes on forever, mixed with his name.

Said object of your affection climbs up on his elbows and knees and moves to your side on your squeaky bed. He kisses your forehead, thoughtfully avoiding your lips.

You can’t move. Holy shit you can’t move. Goddamn, woman, you are going to get your mouth on his cock. Okay...move... Moving...

“Hherrrrnnngggmmng.”

Dean manages to look like a cat again. “You need a moment, hon?”

“Mmmmmmrrggmgf!”

One sec,” He stands like a lion, all grace and fluidity. Your eyes are refocusing, and he’s washed his face off so you can kiss him again. So you do. Now you’ve got him on his back, his arms playfully over his head. You debate kidnapping him and just keeping him here.

Somehow. In an echo of his efforts, you start kissing down his crazy sexy body. Dean’s erection is between your breasts, and you tease him with your nipples.

Your low muscles are still vibrating with the aftereffects of the crazy good orgasm. He’s looking at you with those green eyes like he knows exactly what he’s done. It’s a hell of a turn-on.

You capture him with your mouth and greedily lick him. No man has a right to taste this good. You touch his balls lightly. He watches your hand for a second but relaxes again. You take it as permission to keep playing with this balls while giving head.

He has a hand in your hair now, entangled. Dean groans wonderfully. You hum a little on his dick, and he tenses in pleasure. You’re going to be under him again soon, but you want to work him over with your skills and eagerness.

You drag your lips and tongue from his base and up. He fills your mouth and you can’t quite take him fully with only your mouth, but you try and he appreciates it.

You reluctantly pull back a bit, but finally, grab the condom. The first part was beautiful, but you need him in you.

Everything in place, you part your legs and straddle his hips, tucking your knees close to his warm body. His hands slide up your thighs, hips, and breasts and back to your ass, helpfully pulling you onto him. He’s large and you take him slowly but he feels amazing.

His green eyes are looking into yours again, and you melt into and around him. You raise your hips against his experimentally, and back, figuring out the rhythm. Dean rolls his hips up, and you’re full of him. He found your spot again and is sliding two fingers where his tongue was before.

You make an incoherent sound, but he seems to like hearing you make noises that aren’t words.

He rolls you under him, kissing your lips and face and ear. One hand is on the bed for balance. The other is gently stroking you with fingertips, building you up again. Dean rocks against you deeply, testing. You grab his ass and pull him into you, hard. He makes a noise in his throat that escapes to your neck but will live in your soul for the rest of your life.

You don’t let up the pressure. He takes the encouragement and thrusts as deeply as desired, which is fully.

Your legs are wrapped around his, gripping firmly. You are so going to come again. He’s in your arms, his face is making noises against your throat when he’s not kissing you. You fall apart under him again, and he moves a little faster, adjusting his pace for his own need. His cock is hard, satisfyingly deep, filling your void in ways you didn’t know you needed. Your second (third?) orgasm pulls against him, wanting him.

Dean is grabbing the sheet, clutching it hard, and comes, as hard as you did. He presses his waning hardness into you until he can’t anymore. He slides hdown off his elbows and collapses on you like a dead weight.

“Mrrrfffgffnng.”

You agree.


End file.
